


Alternate Route

by jazzonia



Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types, History Boys - Bennett
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Fix-It, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-17
Updated: 2008-08-17
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzonia/pseuds/jazzonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irwin and Dakin never got around to having a <i>drink</i>, but other things did occur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternate Route

**Author's Note:**

> _Irwin: My last memory was Dakin asking me for a drink -- something we never got around to, incidentally._
> 
> _Dakin: It was Irwin, now being in a wheelchair. That's terrible, isn't it? Afterwards, I couldn't face the wheelchair. Still, at least I asked him..._
> 
> -Alan Bennett, _The History Boys_

We never did go for a drink, Irwin and me. It's too fucking bad, really, because I'd have loved to be able to say that I seduced my history teacher in a pub. In Sheffield.

He wouldn't answer my calls. For two weeks I rang him every day, waited out ten rings, then hung up and went about my day. That's probably a lie, though, because 'my day' isn't nearly as productive and healthy as it sounds. Sitting around my bedroom pining like a fucking schoolgirl, more like it.

Two weeks was the limit I'd set -- if Irwin called back, great, but if not, I'd bring an end to my misery. So I asked around a bit for his address, and showed up on Irwin's doorstep in the middle of a gusty Monday.

I rapped on the door with white knuckles, frozen from the cold and the miserable rain. Nobody came to the door, but I did hear a vague summons from within. I tried the knob and it opened straightaway. That's so like Irwin, to not even bother with a lock. Probably trusts all of mankind or some stupid shite like that.

His flat was small and well-kept, painted a modest beige with similarly bland furniture. There was a suspiciously wheelchair-shaped object in the far corner, haphazardly covered with a bed-sheet. I looked away.

The only redeeming feature of the otherwise nondescript flat was its shelved walls, which creaked under hundreds of weighty tomes. I could probably spend days just looking at the titles, reading the likes of Rousseau and Nietzsche (knee-chee, my brain chorused, as if to make sure I never forgot my mortifying error). But today, I was on a mission.

There was only one room besides the common area / kitchen, which I presumed to be the bedroom. I crossed to the door and halted, feeling the first shivers of trepidation, but forced myself to push the door open.

"Dakin," Irwin whispered, eyes widening behind his glasses. He fumbled with a newspaper that was spread on his lap, as if trying to disguise his shaking hands. I wasn't fooled.

"I see your memory's sharp as ever," I said, intending to be flippant but coming across rather graver.

"Not entirely. The cast is off, though." He gestured to his leg, now clad in grey jogging bottoms as opposed to encased by ghastly white plaster.

"I see," I said. There was a minute of awkward silence, Irwin avoiding my gaze as I stared unabashedly at him.

"You can help yourself to a drink," Irwin offered, gesturing in the direction of the kitchen. "I have brandy, beer, probably some whiskey -- oh."

For I had climbed onto his bed, my knees spread over his, carefully holding up my weight so as not to put pressure on his bad leg. I braced myself on the headboard, poised over him as if to strike.

"D-Dakin," he said, looking terrified as all get-out. "I don't know if I'm ready -- "

I looked pointedly down, where he seemed quite 'ready' indeed. Irwin looked down as well, and gulped. I closed the gap between our faces, leaving our mouths so close that I could feel the moist heat of his breath on my lips.

"It's glasses last, right?" I asked.

"What?"

"Your glasses. They're the last thing you take off, right?"

"Um. Yes."

I pulled back a little, and gently removed the round frames from his face.

"Today, we go a different way."


End file.
